


things you said to me at 2am

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [10]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Pacific Rim: Uprising Compliant, the war fucked them up but they have each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 13:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: Newt's not coping, not really; but then, neither is Hermann.





	things you said to me at 2am

**Author's Note:**

> for the anon prompt "Will you please write Newmann "Hey, you accidentally drunkenly called this number at like 3am and we talked about some pretty heavy shit, do you remember any of that at all?""

The incessant ringing jerks Hermann from his sleep; at first, he grumbles and tries to shut of his alarm, burrowing deeper under the covers to make up for the lost warmth of Newt’s absence, but instead of shutting off like it usually does, the sound just gets louder. Then he realizes it’s his phone. Also, it’s dark out.

He squints at the display, disoriented by the light, and waits for the screen to come into focus.  _Newton_ , it reads. With a sigh, he presses  _accept call_. “Newton?” he says, voice groggy, “what are you doing calling me at…two in the morning? Where are you?”

There’s a muffled grunt, and some heavy breathing, before Newt’s voice sounds through the speaker. “…Herms, hey, I was jus’…jus’ thinking ‘bout you,” he says, voice slightly whimsical. 

“Are you alright?” Hermann questions, “do you need me to come get you?“

There’s a pause as Newt seems to mull over his words, before he replies. “…no. I just…miss you.”

The words startle Hermann. “Really?” he asks softly, “you know I’m here, right?” On the other end, Newt lets out a huff.

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, I know. It’s…dumb. I mean,  _you’re_ dumb. For…sticking around with a mess like me.” His tone is high and fakely cheery, a sharp contrast to the self deprecating words. Hermann draws in a sharp breath.

“Newton, no, you’re not—”

Newt barks a sharp laugh. “Don’t lie, Herms, you’re bad at it. We both know I’ve got…I’ve got issues. Hell, we both do. But you…you could do so much better than an adrenaline-junkie with an obsession with the monsters that almost destroyed the Earth—”

“No,” Hermann says, sternly. “No, Newt, don’t you  _dare_.”

Newt stops, but Hermann can hear the shift of his clothes as he shifts, the snuffle that mean’s he’s tearing up or has been crying recently. It makes his heart clench.  _Come home, Newton_ , he wants to say.  _Please_.

Instead, he says, “You’re a brilliant xenobiologist— _you’re_ the reason that the Kaiju  _didn’t_ destroy the Earth. Without you, we’d all be dead.” On the other end of the line, Newt’s silent. Hermann continues. “And who cares what the world think—they don’t have the right to judge you, Newton.”

Newt sighs, soft. “It’s not…like, I get it, I’m fucked up—I was before, too, but…” he swallows, voice slightly chocked, says, “I can’t bear that…that  _you_ got fucked over trying to help me. We—we saved the world, Hermann, but it…it doesn’t feel like it, when I wake up to you sobbing in your sleep, or when you  _can’t_ sleep from the nightmares, and I’m…I’m helpless, Hermann, I don’t know what to do.” He lets out a harsh breath. “It scares me, Herms…it fucking terrifies me to see you like that, and I—I don’t know what to do.”

They lapse into momentary silence, Hermann uncertain of what to say. It…Hermann’s breath feels like fire, burning his lungs, tears pricking at his eyes, and he just wants to block out the world. Instead, he says, trying and failing to keep his voice steady, “Where are you?”

Newt quickly rattles off an address for a bar, and Hermann crawls out of bed, throwing on a hoodies and his parka, pulls on his shoes and gets his car keys. “I’ll be there in a minute,” he promises, “just—” what,  _don’t put yourself in harm’s way_?  _Don’t freak out_? He leaves the sentence hanging. Newt seems to understand anyway.

He tries to do some breathing exercises on the drive there. They don’t really work. His heart’s beating rapidly, fingers shaking. He calms slightly at the sight of Newt standing outside waiting for him, unharmed. Hermann quickly gets him into the car, blasts the heater. Newt dozes off on the way back, but he doesn’t loosen his grip on Hermann’s hand. Hermann’s gripping back just as tightly.

When they get back to the flat, Hermann rouses him. “Newt, darling, I need you to get up,” he says, prodding the other to semi-wakefulness. “I can’t carry you with my leg—come on, careful, there’s ice on the road,” he cautions, gripping the other’s arm. Newt gives a soft mumble but does as instructed, allowing Hermann to guide him inside and to the bed. Within seconds of laying down, he’s out like a light.

Hermann tucks the blanket over him, pulls off his parka and boots. The cold of the winter air makes him shiver lightly, and he’s exhausted and worried. The residual drift-bond between them is at the back of his mind, buzzing softly, and all he can get from Newt’s end is  _cold_ and  _fear._ He checks the clock.  _3:26_. It’s late now—Newt obviously needs his sleep, and, honestly, there’s nothing Hermann would rather do than to crawl under the covers with Newt and go back to sleep. They’re going to have to talk about this, but right now isn’t the time for it.

With a sigh, he lifts the duvet and slides under it, turning towards Newt’s space-heater-like presence, and lets sleep pull him under.

* * *

When he wakes, the sun is shinning dully around the edges of the black-out curtains. Newt’s already up, and, judging by the sound, preparing a cup of coffee. The previous night’s events trickle back to him as he gets dressed.

“Good morning,” he greets, accepting the cup of tea Newt offers him. They drink their respective beverages in silence before Hermann says, “Do you remember anything from last night.”

Newt freezes for a moment before replying, slowly, “…no.”

Hermann sets down his cup, looks Newt in the eye. “You called me at two in the morning, at least slightly inebriated, and…” he hesitates. “Your words…”

Newt cuts him off. “Forget it, I was just saying dumb shit, as per usual. Just me, Newt, being an idiot.” He tacks on a hollow laugh at the end, and Hermann reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder before dropping it. 

“You said you were…you implied that you felt responsible for my—my  _troubles_ ,” he says, gently. Newt lets out a huff.

“I am, though—if you hadn’t Drifted with me, your head wouldn’t be fucked up, you wouldn’t—”

“We’d be  _dead_ ,” Hermann cuts off. “ _You’d_ be dead. I couldn’t…I couldn’t do that, Newton, do you understand? I had almost watched you die on the floor of our laboratory a few hours before—I couldn’t just stand aside and let you do it again. I couldn’t—” he lets out an involuntary sob. “I—I  _couldn’t_ , Newton, do you know what it would’ve done to me, to know that I  _could’ve_ stopped your death but I  _didn’t_?”

It hangs between them, and Hermann drops his gaze to the floor, scrubs a hand across his face. “It’s not—it isn’t your fault, Newton,” he says, fiercely, “ _I chose_ to Drift with you. You bear no responsibility for the consequences of my actions.”

After a second, Newt closes the space between them, draws him into an embrace. Hermann grips back tightly, buries his face in the crook of his neck, lets tears wet the fabric of Newt’s shirt. “I’m sorry,” Newt croaks, “I just—I don’t know how—” he stops, starts again. “God, we’re really fucked up, aren’t we?”

Hermann lets out a wet laugh. “We match like that, I suppose,” he says, letting the warmth of the other’s body ground him. Newt presses a soft kiss to the top of his head.

“Yeah, we match,” he echoes. “But…but we’re here for each other, so I guess it’s alright.”

Hermann closes his eyes. “We’ve got each other,” he repeats.


End file.
